


Tourbox

by sunsetmog



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Gifts, M/M, Tumblr Fic, boys being stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1265227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Friday, Harry brings him a packet of pink wafer biscuits and a little plastic net of marbles. "These are for you," he says, before very politely sitting on Louis' stairs and taking off his shoes, then hanging his coat over the bannister.</p><p>"Cool," Louis says, which is all you can really say if you're faced with biscuits that aren't really biscuits and a bag of marbles. "Do you want tea?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tourbox

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annemaris (annemari)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annemari/gifts).



> Tumblr ficlet, for the trope prompt, _through their stomach_. 
> 
> Also posted [here](http://magicalrocketships.tumblr.com/post/78478593623/fic-tourbox-nick-louis-1700-words).
> 
> For the record: this is very, very silly and is unbetaed.

There's a card waiting on Louis' doormat when he gets back from the studio on Tuesday night, two weeks before tour starts. Again. _We tried to deliver your parcel whilst you were out. Please leave __ hours before collecting this from your local delivery office_. Someone has scrawled some kind of symbol above the line that could either be _24_ or _48_. He hasn't ordered anything from Amazon recently, so it's probably from a fan who has got hold of his address. There's always the potential that it's homemade cake with someone's teeth in it. The world is a wacky and disjointed place at the best of times, and when it comes to the kinds of things he gets through the post, the best of times tends to be outweighed by the worst of times. 

He dumps the card on the windowsill, next to a pile of other crap he never knows what to do with, and then forgets about it. 

There's a text from an unknown number on his phone when he wakes up on Wednesday morning. _Hiya so what did you think of the parcel? Probably stupid but your friend and mine told me this was the way to get your attention. At least it's not throwing a box of tea right x_

Louis texts back, _who is this?_ and stumbles in the direction of the kitchen to make a brew. 

The answer just says, _ha ha funny xx don't forget to tell us what you thought xx_

On Friday, Harry brings him a packet of pink wafer biscuits and a little plastic net of marbles. "These are for you," he says, before very politely sitting on Louis' stairs and taking off his shoes, then hanging his coat over the bannister.

"Cool," Louis says, which is all you can really say if you're faced with biscuits that aren't really biscuits and a bag of marbles. "Do you want tea?"

"Yes, obviously," Harry says. "Aren't you going to ask me about the presents?"

"You saw them and you thought of me?" Louis goes into the kitchen and fills the kettle. Jeanette had been over earlier in the day, and there's a pile of bits and pieces on the table that she'd brought with her. Their management company do most of their organising for them, but Jeanette organises him and him alone. She's pretty brilliant. 

"Well, yes," Harry says, getting two mugs out of the cupboard. He plucks the bag of marbles from Louis' hand and waves them in the air. "Have you lost your marbles?" he asks. "Nick goes to all that trouble and you don't even text and say thank you?"

Louis blinks. 

"I brought you some marbles. In case you'd misplaced yours," Harry says patiently, and drops the little plastic net back into Louis' hand. 

"Right," Louis says. "What are you on about, again?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "The presents?" 

Nah, Louis has no idea. He pours water onto their teabags and hopes Harry will unravel his own story into something a bit more explicable. It happens. Sometimes. 

"Pink wafer?" Harry asks, holding out the packet. 

"No," Louis says. "They're a monstrosity. They're pus in the acne of life."

"You're revolting," Harry says. "Now, tell me why you're being a fuckbiscuit to Nick."

"I literally have no idea what you're talking about."

Harry lets out the kind of long, drawn out sigh that signals either a very long story Louis doesn't have time for, or Peril. When he pushes past Louis to the table Jeannette was working on earlier, and comes back with a large, unopened parcel, Louis isn't any closer to understanding. 

There's a post-it note on the top of the parcel in Jeanette's handwriting that just says, _picked this up for you, had to borrow your passport for ID. This is the last time I run your errands, love!_

"I still have no idea what the fuck's going on," Louis says. "Are you supposed to be round here? Are we doing something?"

"Nick sent you a parcel," Harry says carefully, "because I told him it was the way to make you like him, and he has been going on and on about not being your friend since approximately four seconds after we met. He has always made it extremely clear that in no way at all did he want to be your friend, but because I'm brainy, I've known that's a lie since about five seconds after he mentioned your name. So, he has made a last ditch attempt to woo you, because both of you are coincidentally single at the same time, and because if I have to sit through one more conversation with either of you about how awful the other one is, I might have to lock you in a room together and throw away the key. And you've ignored his parcel, Louis. Have you any idea how many times in the last three days Nick's rung me up to whine about how he'll be alone forever? Have you? Eat a pink wafer, Lou."

Louis eats a pink wafer biscuit. 

"And I was the one who told him to send you the parcel in the first place, Louis, because I'm scarily intelligent sometimes and I can see behind every single one of your _I hate Nick Grimshaw_ conversations, but now you've ignored it all week and Nick is, at this very moment, stress buying scarves and sending me pictures of _every single one_ , so can you just, for the love of god, and me, and _marbles_ , just open the bloody parcel, and text him back?"

"Right," Louis says, since he is not transparent, and he has been extremely good at hiding his affection for all things Nick Grimshaw-related under the guise of rampant dislike for at least three years now, and Harry must have taken up a second career as a mind-reader or something. He looks awkwardly down at his parcel. Someone has stuck what looks like an entire sheet of Postman Pat stickers on the top. In one of them, someone has drawn Sharpie iPod headphones on Postman Pat and Jess the Cat, and there are speech bubbles. Pat is singing along to _Fight For Your Love_ , and Jess is meowing. "Um."

"Open the parcel," Harry says, and goes to get the teabags out of their mugs. 

"There are stickers," Louis says. 

"Yes," Harry says. "If we were sober when we went shopping, we definitely weren't by the time Nick finished packing it up. We got those stickers in WH Smith. He took a hip flask to the post office. He had a playlist on his iPod just to get him through. We did some drunk posting. "

"I still don't know why you didn't just drop it off here," Louis says. "Why'd you send it through the post in the first place?"

"Wasn't me, it was Nick," Harry says, which isn't an answer. "Have another pink wafer biscuit and open it, will you? The suspense is killing me."

"You were there when he packed it," Louis points out, but he dutifully sits down at the kitchen counter, and tears the Sellotape away to get inside. 

Inside is a card with a cat eating a Mars bar on the front, and inside, it just says, _here's a going on tour survival kit, Harry told me all your favourite things. Blame him not me if he got it wrong! Thought it was about time we stopped being dickheads to each other. Fresh start? Nick x_

And underneath, in a far shakier hand, was written, _and if you were ever up for a snog I probably wouldn't say no. just saying._ There's a hand drawn picture of a bottle of wine and two glasses. 

Underneath the card, there's a box of Yorkshire tea, some mini bags of chocolate buttons, some tubes of Smarties, what looks like the contents of a multi-pack of Seabrook crisps, two Moleskine notebooks, one manuscript, one lined, with a post-it on top that says, _for song writing x_ , a Frisbee, a stress ball shaped like a piglet, new Sennheiser earbuds, a mix CD that has a folded over inlay, a folded up t-shirt, and a box of chicken cup-a-soups. 

Louis stands up just so he can sit back down again. 

Harry slides a cup of tea along the counter to him. "Pink wafer?"

"Nick Grimshaw hates me," Louis says, squeezing his piglet stress ball. "Everyone knows that."

"He made you a mix CD," Harry says, wrinkling his nose. "And I'm not being funny, but you haven't always been this thick, right?"

"Who stole Harry and put you in his place?" Louis asks, tapping his fist against Harry's hip. "And I'm not thick. Nick doesn't like me, and I don't like him."

"Do you have any idea at all how hard it is to track down a multipack of Seabrook crisps in London?" 

Louis raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, so it's not that hard, but it could have been. He was willing to make that effort for you, you know?"

Louis unfolds his t-shirt. It says _Team Grimmy_ across the front. "Right."

"Text him," Harry says. 

"Fine," Louis says, doing his best to sound as grumbly and grumpy as possible. His heart's pounding. He finds the text message from earlier that week, and saves it to his contacts as _Arseface Grimshaw_. 

He sends Nick a text that says, _thanks for the parcel. Wine's on me if you'll let me say thanks in person._ He hesitates before ending it with three kisses. 

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Harry says, peering over his shoulder. "I knew you two would like each other if you both just got over being terrible."

Louis makes a soft, growly sort of a noise which in no way should be taken by anyone as assuming Harry to be correct on any point, ever. 

~*~

Louis and Nick have their first kiss at two thirty in the morning, in the pissing rain, underneath a tree on Primrose Hill. 

It turns into a thing.


End file.
